


It's So Cold

by youreyeslookliketheocean



Category: Dream SMP War (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I had this idea in my mind before I even opened my eyes one morning so..., TW: Mention of death, TW: mention of blood, aftermath of the smp war, emotional breakdown, l'manberg, very definitely angst lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyeslookliketheocean/pseuds/youreyeslookliketheocean
Summary: Ghostbur's POV of the L'Manberg explosion's aftermath....How is one supposed to get back from the afterlife?
Kudos: 24





	It's So Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for this fandom, so... hi! Also, I feel like it's important to mention that all of the characters in this fanfic are just that...characters. I wrote this using the personalities that Wilbur and the others gave their roleplay characters, because, personally, I am uncomfortable writing fanfic about real life people. Because they're characters in a fictional world, the minecraft server is their universe and anything outside of the game is unknown to them. :) That's all! Thank you for reading!

When had L’Manberg gotten so cold?

Wilbur shivered, rubbing the sides of his arms with his hands. The cold was almost stinging, it was so frigid. Especially in his lungs. It felt like he could barely get a breath in without his chest burning in protest.

He continued to trudge down the hill, towards the giant crater that marred L’Manberg’s center. He didn’t remember how it had gotten there. Maybe Schlatt had blown it up. Schlatt, who, if Wilbur remembered correctly, was now dead.

Wilbur stopped walking once he hit the edge of the crater. He had a choice, now. To continue walking, or to slip inside the crater and investigate.

Naturally, ever the curious-at-heart, he chose the latter.

Slipping his feet quietly over the jagged edge of a giant, black-tinted boulder, Wilbur found his footing on the next rock to continue climbing down into the pit.

  
_"It stays in the pit..."_ _  
_

Wilbur shivered, his foot momentarily slipping off of the rock. He caught himself quickly, loose pebbles skittering off towards the bottom of the crater as he kicked them away, but those words... they were so familiar in his head. When had he heard them before? He couldn’t remember.

Shaking it off as best as he could, he continued climbing down.

The bottom of the pit was mostly made up of rock. Dark, stormy-gray rock that looked like it had been burned around the edges. Wilbur took his time picking his way through it. He didn’t really have a specific direction to travel in; he was just here to wander.

The canyon seemed to extend through most of L’Manburg. It started where the L’Manberg election stand had been, and ended past where all the decorations for the festival had been set up.

What had happened during that festival? It was with slight surprise that Wilbur realized he couldn’t remember that, either.

_Cough, cough._  


Wilbur’s attention snapped to the side, towards a giant mound of rubble sitting in the center of the crater.

Was someone else here?

He hadn’t seen anyone else since he woke up on top of the hill—the hill just behind where the election stand had been, where the White House had previously stood. Unsurprisingly, Wilbur didn’t remember how that monument had been taken down, either.

But he recognized the voice coughing. There was no way he couldn’t. He’d grown up with that voice.

Wilbur hurried towards it, picking his way over jagged-edged rocks and puddles of muddied water. He leapt over a stream trickling in from a tiny waterfall—maybe a water pipe that had burst—and scrambled around the pile of rubble.

“Tommy? Tommy are you—”

Wilbur froze, staring down at his little brother. Tommy was sitting on the ground, hunched over himself, with both arms wrapped around his legs and his face buried in his knees. His normally blond hair had been matted and caked with so much dirt and soot that it appeared almost brown. Blood stained his hands and the sleeves of his shirt. A broken bow lay three feet away from him, it’s string snapped and wood cracked open. Most importantly, though, and the thing that broke Wilbur’s heart, was that Tommy was crying.

Tommy never cried. Never. Not since he’d been a child. And he wasn’t a child, now. Wilbur could remember that, at least. He remembered Tommy walking alongside him during their revolution, the way he’d fought for the country Wilbur dreamed of creating. That wasn’t something a child could do.

At some point, maybe during that war, Tommy had grown up. And now he was sobbing. Absolutely _sobbing_. Gut wrenching, horrible cries that stung Wilbur’s chest worse than the pain of breathing did.

“Hey, hey, Tommy? What’s wrong?”

Wilbur knelt over his brother, and reached out a hand to place it on Tommy’s shoulder. It didn’t seem to matter. Tommy didn’t look up, just continued to sob.

“Tommy? Tommy? What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Let me see your arms, it looks like you—”

Suddenly, Tommy’s arms flung around Wilbur’s torso. He didn’t stop crying, but his face pressed firmly into Wilbur’s chest, and his arms encircled him in possibly the first real hug Tommy had given him in...in _years_.

“He’s gone... he’s gone... it’s... it’s _all_ gone,” Tommy repeated over and over again, his voice muffled by Wilbur’s clothing.

“Who’s gone?” Wilbur asked. But before Tommy could respond, someone else spoke from behind him.

“I know. I know. But it’ll be okay.”

Wilbur blinked, releasing his arms from around Tommy and stepping backwards in surprise. Stepping _through_ someone.

It was Tubbo. Tubbo, kneeling on the ground right where Wilbur had been. The boy’s brown hair was ruffled, his clothes in tatters, but his arms were steady as they clutched Tommy close to him, and his voice had been even steadier.

“Wilbur... and L’Manberg... and... and... _I thought we won!_ ” Tommy said. He pressed his face into Tubbo’s shoulder as they both sank to the ground.

“I know. I’m... I’m so sorry.” For the first time since he’d started speaking, Tubbo’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry about Wilbur, Tommy.”

Tommy didn’t respond, only cried harder.

What about Wilbur? What had he done? What happened? Why... why had he just stepped _through_ Tubbo? Why was everywhere so cold? Why hadn’t he felt the warmth of Tommy’s arms around him? Why—?

“Welcome to the afterlife.”

Wilbur blinked, tearing his eyes away from Tommy and Tubbo to look up at the edge of the pit. Standing above him, perched on the edge of a grassy cliff, was Schlatt.

“The...the _afterlife_?” Wilbur asked, confused.

Schlatt smiled, infuriatingly annoying, as usual. “Yes, Wilbur. The afterlife. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re dead.”

Pain blossomed in Wilbur’s chest as he sucked in a breath. No. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be! He could still breathe, no matter how painful, and if he could still breathe, he was alive. But why hadn’t Tommy realized he was there? And why had he walked through Tubbo? And... wasn’t Schlatt supposed to be dead?

“Stop trying to breathe, you moron,” Schlatt said. “It doesn’t do anything for you anymore, it just hurts.”

Wilbur frowned, painfully inhaling another breath. “What do you mean ‘stop breathing’? Are you dense?”

“Are _you_ dense?” Schlatt retorted. “You’re dead, Wilbur!”

It hit him like a punch to the stomach. The cold, the pain, the fact that he’d literally walked through Tubbo. The feeling of something cold and sharp piercing his skin right between his ribs. Someone had been crying when that happened; maybe it had been him. Someone whispering reassurances in his ear, humming softly as the world grew dark and fuzzy around the edges...

He’d died in his father’s arms.

He remembered. He remembered dying.

Wilbur stumbled back, catching himself on a rock before he could fall. He wheezed, looking down at the ground to avoid the way the world seemed to spin before his eyes. As he looked down, his eyes caught on his sweater. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the pale yellow fabric had a bright red stain smack dab in the middle of it.

Wilbur brought his hands up to clutch at his hair. How had this happened? Why had this happened? He’d died? He’d left... he’d left Tommy!

Reminded of his younger brother, Wilbur forced himself to look back over to where Tommy and Tubbo were still huddled together. Tommy was hiccuping into Tubbo’s shoulder, but he’d stopped crying. He sniffled instead, wiped his nose with the back of his blood-covered sleeve, then pulled away.

Wilbur watched as Tommy took a deep, stabilizing breath before pushing himself to his feet. He only wobbled a little bit as he bent down to retrieve his broken bow.

“Let’s go home, Tubbo,” Tommy choked out.

Tubbo frowned, but stood up as well. “Where’s that, Tommy? Everything’s... well, everything’s kind of blown up right now.”

For a second, Tommy just stood there, as if he’d only just realized that L’Manberg blew up and there was no home for them to return to anymore. But then he shook his head, slinging his bow over his back and looking up towards the top of the canyon.

“We’ll make a new one,” he said.

Standing there, his jaw clenched with determination and blue eyes alight with new fire, Tommy reminded Wilbur vaguely of himself several years ago, when L’Manberg had first been founded.

When had Tommy grown up so much? How had Wilbur missed it? How had he not seen the squared shoulders, the practical planning, the confident tilt of Tommy’s chin when he spoke?

He’d never told Tommy how proud he was of him. Couldn’t even remember the last time he told him how much he loved him.

And he hadn’t taken a breath in a full minute.

“Schlatt?”

Schlatt swung one leg lazily over the side of the ledge he was sitting on. “Yeah?”

“Is there... is there any way back from the afterlife?”

Schlatt appeared to contemplate this question for a moment, then he looked back down at Wilbur and shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “If there is a way, I haven’t found it yet.”

Wilbur refocused his gaze back on Tommy and Tubbo as they slowly made their way up and out of the giant crater. The sunlight shone down on them, illuminating Tommy’s tufts of blond hair like bright yellow fire dancing in the wind, and making the buttons on Tubbo’s shirt shimmer like stars.

Wilbur smiled, leaning his shoulder against the rubble beside him as he watched his little brother and his best friend climb out of the wreckage L’Manberg had left behind.

If there was a way out of the afterlife, Wilbur bet that those two could find it.


End file.
